


I Would, Wouldn't You?

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Crack, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon goes all mystical, vegetarian, yoga-practicing after Gauda Prime. This annoys the rebels to the point they're happy to have Tarrant volunteer to keep an eye on him in an isolated cabin in the woods.</p><p>Tarrant gets more than an eye on Avon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Would, Wouldn't You?

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Tarrant looked down at the bowl of precisely arranged, moist-looking strips of green, red, yellow, and, disconcertingly, blue. "Are you sure it's dead?" he asked, stirring it with a fork to disarrange the pattern, which resembled a projectile- ridden target more than he'd care to admit.

"It's vegetable matter. It was never alive, in the commonly accepted sense," Avon said, sitting atop the table to pick up his own bowl, his legs crossed and interlocked so that Tarrant could see both the blackened soles of his feet at once.

"That's disgusting, Avon," Tarrant said, retreating with his own meal to the stone hearth at the heart of the little cabin. Gauda Prime was primitive, but they could have something better than this, if only Avon hadn't gone all Auron-mystical after that muck-up in the shooting -sorry- _tracking_ gallery.

Blake had been wearing his bounty-hunter's friend body armor and packets of fake blood. Tarrant hadn't known about it at the time, but after Avon snapped, Blake's base medico had all of the ex-Scorpio's crew study the vid-records until they could recite everything word for word.

Avon had dropped like a stone when he was stunned. Blake got up to congratulate his men on their performance, and then went around checking that all the other fallen rebels had been wearing their protectors and were also only faking. Tarrant remembered grinding his teeth the first time he saw Blake stand over Avon with a particularly avuncular grin to announce that Avon had proven his loyalty in his own unorthodox manner.

Tarrant had awakened in some sort of barracks room along with the rest of Scorpio's crew- with one major exception. Avon hadn't been there. There had been several armed rebels at the door, but they were told they were only there for their own protection. Right. To keep them from stumbling around Blake's base and maybe tripping over something dangerous. Like their guns. The guards had been reasonably friendly, and had explained about Blake's test. Being shot down and thinking you were dying was not a recruitment policy that Tarrant approved, but he supposed it was a quick and dirty way to judge loyalties.

Eventually Blake had come to them and demanded to know what _they_ had done to Avon. This hadn't pleased anyone. After some discussion conducted at fairly high decibel levels Blake's red-haired assistant had showed up and tried to calm things down. They all trooped down to the medical unit. They were confronted by the sight of Avon on the floor on all fours, back arched, with a peculiar, 'listening' look on his face. His eyes were closed and he wasn't wearing any studs at all, having stripped down to his underpants.

Avon looked _vulnerable_ , which took Tarrant back a few mental steps. He tried to rephrase it, but nothing else seemed to fit. Well, sexy as hell, but that was hardly a new image. Tarrant had repressed that thought on many occasions, with a notable lack of success.

"Avon?" Tarrant had tried, when no one else seemed willing to break the silence.

Avon had opened his eyes and looked at Tarrant while smiling the sweetest, gentlest smile he'd ever seen on a human being. It sent a shiver down his spine. 

"I was only mistaken," Avon announced. "I know that Blake would never betray me." Those large, mild eyes traced over the faces of his astounded crew as he said, "None of you would ever betray me." Then he knotted himself up into a geometric figure that Tarrant would have sworn was impossible for a man his age and shut his eyes again. "Excuse me, I must meditate. I need to center myself."

***

After a few days of Avon sitting around the base half-naked, earnestly expounding his theories on passive resistance, Blake's medico recommended that Avon be allowed to meditate in quiet, soothing surroundings somewhere else. Mostly because it was driving Blake crazy. Where Avon came up with his ideas was a total mystery. Even Cally hadn't been that mystical.

To his own secret dismay, Tarrant found himself volunteering to accompany Avon into exile. He'd dreamed about getting Avon alone, but not this Avon. This Avon had noticed Tarrant's erection- a fairly predictable result of observing Avon's contortions- and mildly said, "You need to control your animal side," then went into a garbled lecture on auras, something he called the Ahruman/Mazda conflict, Yin and Yang, crystal healing and Feng Shui. It all boiled down to 'you're not getting any', which Tarrant had figured out before Avon started talking.

Tarrant was bored beyond belief. Blake had given them this cabin stocked with provisions, rude furnishings and a dedicated communicator linked to his base. They'd been here three days while Avon purged his soul of animal products and desires. That meant meat and leather were out. So they ate vegetables and Avon posed in a pair of black, synthetic skivvies which left nothing to Tarrant's imagination. He should have let someone else volunteer. Shouldn't have let himself be moved by dark eyes and a pouting mouth and the cutest ass he'd ever seen on a man. Which he wasn't getting to touch. Nookie was not scheduled anywhere on Avon's spiritual calendar.

Everyone else had been absorbed into Blake's organization. Dayna and Soolin were working hard to establish their reputations with the awestruck male populace, while Vila was trying to live his down with the female portion of Blake's rebel rabble. Yet here _he_ was, stuck in a cabin with a man who wouldn't even eat a rabbit, let alone screw like a bunny.

Tarrant sighed and went back to the com. link, looking for something to divert his attention from Avon, who had now managed to put one leg up around his neck while he was contemplating the arrangement of raw vegetables in his bowl. Avon called his contortions 'Yoga', but Tarrant thought he was making it up as he went along. For the amusement value of it, Tarrant called up the reference library and asked about yoga. Possibly he could point out the inconsistencies in Avon's meditation routines and spark a return to sanity.

Interesting. There were many different approaches to this yoga. Philosophy. Physical conditioning. And... my God... was there such a thing? Philosophical SEX? He skimmed over the print-out. Well, it was a philosophy, and talked a lot about breathing and chakras, whatever they were, but the accompanying illustrations... well, they looked like two healthy individuals indulging in a philosophy that he could certainly take to heart.

The only problem was, all these illustrations depicted a male/female relationship. Fine and dandy, and Tarrant certainly enjoyed the pleasures of women, but at the moment what he had available was a man. Tarrant never claimed to be a computer genius, but he managed to persuade the computer to do a bit of touch-up on the illustrations. The result was so satisfactory that he seriously considered taking himself outside to study them a while, in private.

The bit about learning ejaculatory control, and multiple male orgasms... well, that he _really_ ought to study. Tarrant settled down at the table, ignoring the gentle humming coming from the body seated on top of the table at the other end, and began reading and taking notes.

The room had become quite dark and chilly before Tarrant looked up again. What aroused his attention was the silence. Avon wasn't humming. He was looking at Tarrant, really looking at him.

"Tarrant?" Avon asked. "What are you reading?"

Curiosity. That was how to hook Avon. Tarrant shuffled the papers together, 'accidentally' allowing some of the clearer illustrations to fall free.

Avon stared and a slight blush manifested itself.

Encouraged, Tarrant said, "It's a form of Yoga. Tantric Yoga."

"Ah?" Avon leaned forward for a better view and lost his balance. Not surprising, considering that he had both ankles around his neck.

Tarrant stood up and caught Avon around the waist before he could hit the table. Avon resisted, putting his hands on Tarrant's shoulders and locking his elbows.

"It's actually a sub-set of Tantric Yoga," Tarrant said, nuzzling into the crook of one of Avon's elbows, giving it a lick before he continued to talk. "Red Tantric Yoga. Using sexual energies in a ritualized form." He ran his hands up and down Avon's legs, enjoying the muscle-dance beneath his fingers.

Avon stiffened. "I am endeavoring to eliminate my animal nature." But his elbows bent, allowing Tarrant closer.

"Impossible," Tarrant murmured into Avon's ear. "Men are animals. Far better to learn to use that animal, to teach him control. But first you need to get his attention."

"Control." Avon looked at Tarrant. "Yes, if I could have controlled my 'animal', my emotions..." he said the last word with distaste. "Blake..."

"Blake was a mistake. You said it yourself. Don't cut yourself off from life because you made one mistake." Tarrant ran a finger around inside the waistband of Avon's sole article of clothing. "This feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Avon admitted, ducking his head to rest against Tarrant's shoulder. "Which is why I distrust it."

"A hair-shirt doesn't make a saint. Besides, you were never meant for sainthood. Try my yoga once, why don't you?"

"Your yoga." Avon laughed and brought his arms down around Tarrant's neck. "Are you a master of this art?"

"A novice, but an enthusiastic one." Tarrant pulled Avon closer until they were balanced, chest to chest. Avon's flush now extended down his throat and was spreading across his chest. "I think you aren't entirely unwilling, either," he said, pressing against the forming bulge in Avon's skimpies.

"No. Not unwilling." Avon sighed, and shut his eyes. "All right. Let me get untangled."

"Not necessary," Tarrant replied. "In fact, if you will observe illustration thirty-nine you've got your half of the diagram covered."

Avon glanced at illustration thirty-nine, and winced. "Vegetable oil," he muttered into Tarrant's ear. "Copious quantities of vegetable oil."

Tarrant pulled Avon's undergarment down and then up to Avon's knees. In this position, Avon's penis was fully revealed, rising quite enthusiastically between pale, trembling thighs. "Nice," Tarrant said. He petted it for a moment, then reached one long arm down to the condiments tray and picked up the long-necked bottle of herb- flavored vegetable oil.

"You wouldn't," Avon said, as he saw Tarrant eying the long, fairly thin neck of the bottle.

"Oh, you know me, Avon," Tarrant replied breezily. He was still using one hand to steady Avon, but his other hand was quite skilled enough to open his fly and pull out his own... lingam, the tantric glossary called it. Nice word, sounded like it started out limber, and became a ram. His lingam liked warm herb-scented oil. He poured a bit on his finger, and warned Avon, "You'll have to hold on to me. I'll need both hands for this."

Avon nodded sharply and clutched at Tarrant. His legs should be hurting by now, but apparently he'd learned how to ignore the sensations of unused muscles stretching. 

Tarrant spread Avon's buttocks with one hand and put a couple of oiled fingers into Avon, and yet another unused muscle tried to stretch to accomodate them. Tarrant grunted, pulled his fingers back out and tried again. "Avon," he said, and Avon looked up into Tarrant's eyes just as something harder and cooler and longer than fingers slid inside him. He yelped, and bucked, but steadied in a moment as Tarrant worked the bottle back and forth inside him.

"That's not funny," he growled.

Tarrant grinned. "No, it's prime-grade, _virgin_ oil."

"No, I'm not," Avon corrected. "And _that_ wasn't necessary."

True. Avon was opening up quite readily. Still, it did no harm, and it was fun to see Avon startled.

"In fact." Avon started to bring one hand down to himself, but had to stop when he began falling backward. "I don't think I care to wait any longer."

Tarrant considered for a moment. There were two beds. There was also a fairly sturdy chair near the hearth. Then again, the table was at a convenient height... oh, hell with it. Tarrant slicked his hand once more over his cock, which had been enjoying the proximity of Avon's ass and didn't care to wait much longer either. He really _must_ get around to learning all those fascinating techniques. Someday. He pulled the bottle out and tossed it aside in a shower of herb-sprinkled oil. It smelled like musk and spice.

"Now, Tarrant!" Avon demanded, throwing his head back for a moment, then forward again to lock gazes.

It was harder when you couldn't see what you were doing, but Tarrant rose to the challenge. He pulled Avon forward again, until slippery buttocks were balanced on the edge of the table, and then Tarrant stepped forward, crouched just a bit, and guided himself into Avon.

Avon gasped, and his eyes went wide. His hands scrabbled at Tarrant, finding a secure purchase on lean biceps. "NOW!"

Head in, the rest should follow. Tarrant locked his arms around Avon's waist and thrust. It was good. Very good. So good he did it again, and again, while Avon hung on to him and moaned, rocking with the force of Tarrant, with the energy the younger man gave him, rubbing against Tarrant's belly, unable to grasp himself, but not really needing to as they were so closely locked.

It didn't last long. After all the build-up, the actual event was over in less than three minutes. Avon clamped down on Tarrant as he came, and Tarrant forgot about using tantric principles to draw sexual energy from the sex organs up the spine to the back of the brain in order to delay orgasm. He just plain came, shouting with the exuberant pleasure of releasing all his pent-up life-force in one blazing moment. He collapsed forward, squashing Avon against the table and scattering bowls of Vegan sushi and pages of tantric instructions.

"Tarrant. Tarrant. DEL."

That did it. Tarrant rolled his eyes a few times, and then looked around. A few inches away on one side was an ankle, a corresponding distance away on the other side was the matching ankle. In between there was a face, which was rapidly turning bright red.

"Right." Tarrant tried a few times, eventually locating an arm that belonged to him, and using it to lever himself off of Avon. Getting out of Avon was easy, especially with all the oil, but getting Avon's legs unlocked took a few minutes longer. Finally he was able to straighten Avon out and get him off the table.

Good thing it was a smooth-surfaced table. A splintered Avon would not be fun to deal with... well, from one perspective it would be enormously amusing.

"Bed," Avon muttered and Tarrant lent an arm. The bed looked big enough for two, so Tarrant climbed in beside Avon.

Avon looked at Tarrant solemnly and for a moment, Tarrant worried that he would get a lecture on meditation, but Avon suddenly grinned and said, "Well, at least we found my center." Then he shut his eyes and curled up on his side, pressing against Tarrant.

Tarrant grinned to himself and pulled the covers up over the both of them. He yawned. Tomorrow he supposed he should call Blake's base and tell everyone that Avon was back to normal. But maybe it would be better to wait a few days, just to be certain Avon didn't have a relapse. After all, they were only novices.


End file.
